


Gentlemen of Fortune

by manic_intent



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Duncan and Edward come to a different sort of dispute resolution, M/M, Pirates fight dirty but so do disgraced Assassins, That AU where instead of randomly fighting each other on the beach, spoilers for start of AC4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-29
Updated: 2013-11-29
Packaged: 2018-01-02 23:25:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well, Sneaksby," Edward drawls, "There remains the problem that you an' me are marooned, and all the gold in the world be no use to the marooned. Where d'you expect me to magic up a ship, eh? From me arse?"</p><p>The man narrows his eyes and bares his teeth, furious, but even half-drowned and exhausted he still looks a right treat, Edward decides. There's a certain cruelty to his eyes and his mouth, but a fierceness about him, like the coiled tension of a hunting panther. "Bloody <i>fucking</i> pirates," he spits, as he struggles to get to his feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gentlemen of Fortune

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Honestly, between both men's ridiculously good looks and Edward's shameless flirting, that opening had me hoping they would just fuck on that beach rather than fight on it.
> 
> So that's exactly what I want. Duncan Walpole fucks a mouthy pirate. Any kind of sex is welcome: pen, non-pen, blowjob, handjob, frot, whatever your fancy. Just make it frustrated/angry on Duncan's side, sarcastic/playful on Edward's. 
> 
> Bonus for a little gunplay."
> 
> This was EXACTLY what I thought when I started the game. Especially when Edward drawls, "Was it good for you as well?" And then Edward kills Duncan? I was all ???? D: ... Anyway...
> 
> For the benefit of people who haven't played the game, here is the all cinematic AC4 video (Full spoilers obviously!) Duncan and Edward are right at the start. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uEAqmdM-E5A

I.

"Will you, or won't you?"

Edward grins, pushing himself up from the hot sand to study the only other survivor of the wrecked ship. He isn't sure who - or _what_ \- the other man was, but he fought like a demon and had a fine set of gear over his shoulders, that was for certain. A rich man, perhaps? A mercenary? He was certainly some breed of killer. The way he had snuck so quietly onto their ship and killed their captain in a bound like the wrath of the Lord-

"Well, Sneaksby," Edward drawls, "There remains the problem that you an' me are marooned, and all the gold in the world be no use to the marooned. Where d'you expect me to magic up a ship, eh? From me arse?"

The man narrows his eyes and bares his teeth, furious, but even half-drowned and exhausted he still looks a right treat, Edward decides. There's a certain cruelty to his eyes and his mouth, but a fierceness about him, like the coiled tension of a hunting panther. "Bloody _fucking_ pirates," he spits, as he struggles to get to his feet.

"But if we _do_ happen about a ship, on account of one passing by," Edward adds quickly, "Sure I'll be glad t'help you get to Havana, if it be worth my time."

The other man scowls, his hands curling for a moment into claws, then he sniffs, and straightens up. "What do you want?"

Edward looks the man insolently and lazily over, just to shake him up, but he gets only a narrow-eyed stare for his trouble. "I want the money in reales," he decides, then plucks a random figure out of the air. "Five thousand."

"Fine." 

Edward arches an eyebrow. "Really? Let's see that, then."

"My money's in Havana," the man says coldly. "Now are you going to help me get there or not?"

"Sure, sure, good Master," Edward drawls, and bows with mock servility. "Edward Kenway, at your service." 

He doesn't expect the other man to tilt his head, as though in surprise. "Edward Kenway. One of the so-called Gentlemen of Fortune, from Nassau?"

"You've heard of me and my friends, aye?"

The man opens his mouth, as if to say more, then seems to think better of it, checking his pockets instead as if reassuring himself of some hidden belongings. "I'm Duncan," he introduces himself gruffly, as, satisfied, his hands drop back to his sides. "Now, how do you propose that we get off this blasted rock?"

"This isn't no rock, Mister Duncan. Why, there be a beach, a goodly forest, possibly means water inland, probably animals to hunt, maybe fruits, too," Edward points out. "Not a bad place by far."

"I don't need a soliloquy on how things 'could have been worse', Mister Kenway," Duncan snaps. "I want to get to _Havana_."

"Aye, aye, in time." Edward saunters over, ostensibly to sling a friendly arm around Duncan's shoulder, but Duncan hastily sidesteps sharply, and Edward doesn't bother persisting, raising his hands palms up, soothingly. "I've been marooned before-"

" _Do_ tell. On account of your _charming_ personality, no doubt."

"-an' it's just a matter of scopin' out the grounds, finding a nice spot to flag down a ship, and trusting to luck." Edward gestures expansively at the island. "Shall we?"

Duncan scowls at him, but doesn't shoot him, so Edward decides to count that as a win. 

They find a freshwater stream deeper inland, which is a stroke of good luck - it's deep enough that Edward decides to roll in it to wash off all the drying salt on his clothes and skin. "Bit cold," he beckons to Duncan, who's standing impatiently by the stream, "But if you don't have a wash the salt's going to chafe something right awful."

"Are you quite fini-" the rest of Duncan's snarl is swallowed in a yelp as Edward reaches over and yanks at his ankle, then reaches up to grab fistfuls of his jacket and belt when Duncan instinctively tries to roll with the fall. They end up in an ungainly heap of limbs and elbows in the stream, and Edward starts laughing even as Duncan curses and spits and shoves at him.

"Oh, come on then," Edward manages, after some flailing, to pin a writhing, hissing Duncan under him, half-submerged in the stream. "I thought we were going to be friends!"

Duncan responds by wrenching free and jabbing a vicious knee into Edward's stomach, and they end up wrestling on the grassy, sandy bank of the stream, Duncan snarling imprecations and Edward laughing until he's finally breathless and pinned in turn under Duncan. He smirks broadly as Duncan bares his teeth and narrows his eyes, and then Edward plants his heels in the grass and rolls his hips. 

He only manages to rub against Duncan's thigh, but Duncan flushes and backs off so hurriedly that he stumbles and slips on the grass and falls into the stream, then he's glowering at Edward as Edward starts to laugh again. "Mad bastard," Duncan growls, but there's no murder in it - he grudgingly rinses off and even strips off his long hooded jacket, then his undershirt, bracers and scabbards. His skin, surprisingly enough, is an even tanned brown, marked here and there by livid scars: gunshot and knife wounds and more.

Edward finds himself staring, quite curious, and Duncan glances at him briefly before snorting and pulling off his boots, tossing them to his jacket. "Don't fucking try anything."

"Just admiring the view," Edward drawls, and winks most dreadfully, he's sure, but Duncan merely arches an eyebrow.

"I've heard that said of pirates." 

"Heard what?"

"That you don't care what shape or manner of form it is that wets your pricks."

"Now, that's hurtful, that is," Edward decides to push his luck, edging over a hand's breadth, then more, when Duncan merely watches him warily. "We won't be havin' with children and animals. It's a free world out here, but not that free."

"That's not what I've heard," Duncan says challengingly, though there's a cruel, dark humour in his eyes that Edward decides that he likes, maybe, if it isn't about to blow up in his face or stab him in the gut, and when he dares edge over to try a kiss, Duncan growls and grabs a tight fistful of his hair, hard enough for Edward to wince, his hand darting instinctively for the knife at his belt. 

Duncan's faster, though - God, the man is snake-fast - he has a bruising grip on Edward's wrist, and even as Edward's considering kneeing him in the stomach he's got his mouth pressed hard to Edward's, and it takes Edward a long, blank moment not to register it as a blow, of sorts. In a way, it is. He gets his free hand over the back of Duncan's neck and Duncan presses a warning growl into his mouth, then he has Edward pressed down on the grassy bank as he does what seems to be his level best to fuck Edward's mouth thoroughly with his tongue. It's rough and brutal and they blood each other's teeth on bruising lips and Edward's chuckling as he tastes copper, grabbing at Duncan's shoulder, clawing for more. 

"Let up, hey, let up," Edward breathes harshly between them as Duncan rubs what's definitely promising to be a right spot of interest against Edward's thigh, and Duncan growls against his ear, gritty and frustrated. "Don't waste that," Edward purrs, because he knows when the dice is thrown, when to up the ante, "I want to get that into my mouth." 

A moan's pressed harshly into his neck as Duncan stills sharply, then he hisses, "Then get fucking to it, pirate," and lets Edward roll him onto his back on the grass. Edward smirks, gets his hand on his prize and squeezes just hard enough to get Duncan to buck for him, but that's as much foreplay as Duncan seems to have the patience for. Belts and his trousers are shoved down and aside and Edward decides, what with the sun burning his back and life being so sweet just out from being near drowned that there's no use playing coy, when the both of them have just danced a couple of rounds with Death herself - he sucks down as much as he can and chokes down a laugh around the taut flesh as Duncan jams his own fist into his mouth to stifle his cry.

Either violence is what hoists Duncan's pennant or the man's been mighty frustrated for a time - it doesn't take Duncan quite so long before he's grunting and grabbing at Edward's shoulders as he spills, bitter and thick down Edward's throat and chin. He's absolutely silent when he comes, though it's quite a sight, arched and locked against the grass with his heels kicking against the sand and his hand clamped tight over his own mouth. Edward drags a slow lick over Duncan's nice, long cock, just because, and Duncan muffles a growl and swats at him. 

"My turn," Edward slinks up, but Duncan frowns at him and kicks out, bowling him into the ice-cold stream - Edward yelps, shock and cold dowsing his arousal quicker than the shake of a lamb's tail, and he spits a curse at Duncan, who smirks at him, crooked and sated and cruel as he buckles up his belt. 

"That's for pulling me into the spring, Kenway," Duncan has the fucking balls to tell him, and even as Edward bares his teeth, he tenses up, tipping up his head. 

There. That sound. Far away, the sound of blades clashing on blades, even through the jungle and the wind. Duncan's instantly crouched on his feet, looking around, but he doesn't seem to hear whatever it is - then again, Edward's always had keen ears and a keen eye for trouble.

"I'm going to pay you back later," Edward growls, as he gets reluctantly to his feet. "Get your things. I think we've lucked out on a ride."

II.

Edward feels better once he has the helm under his hands again. The merchant's ship might handle only slightly better than a scow, but she's all right once the wind catches her, and they're making fair time towards Havana. Duncan, beside him, is watching the sea, his hood pulled down over his eyes to hide his face, and he seem to be watching the horizon pulling away from the stern.

"So you actually can sail a ship."

" _Captain_ a ship," Edward corrects. 

Duncan shrugs, unrepentant. "The sea and ships aren't in my usual line of business."

"What are you, then?" Duncan eyes Edward warily, but Edward winks at him, even as he guides the ship a fraction to take on a change in the wind. "You fight like the Devil himself, Mister Duncan, and you've got something right nasty on your wrist. Some might call a hidden knife a coward's weapon."

"Oh?"

"I'll call it a killer's weapon," Edward grins, "Like a panther's claws, unsheathed only when you need it. An assassin's toy."

Duncan tenses a little at the last - hah. It had been a bit of a stab in the dark, but it's nice to be right. Eventually, however, the man just huffs. "You have good instincts, and you're not half bad yourself with a pair of blades." They had taken out the English soldiers whom had happened on the merchants, slain them, and had made off with the ship _and_ a grateful, fat merchant also coincidentally on his way towards Havana. All in all, it was fair work. Bonnet seems harmless enough, and Edward rather likes the bumbling, prim merchant.

"High praise, seeing as I probably can take you and kick your arse one-handed, old man." 

A smirk curls up under the hood. "We'll see. Don't be so quick to disappear in Havana after you get paid. I might have use for a man like you."

"We don't take masters, my kin," Edward points out.

"Call it a joint venture, then. I find you a good ship, fully outfitted, and a crew, you take me where I want to go when I need it, and the rest of the time you have is your own. Whether you go pillaging or trading with it won't be of any consequence to me." 

"I'll pick my own crew," Edward counters, facetiously, "And as to a ship... a brigantine, I'm thinking. Something fast, with nice, sleek lines. Teeth and fangs - broadside cannons, chasers and swivel guns. Ironsided hull, maybe. Mortars."

"The people I'm meeting with in Havana will have ships. You should be able to take your pick." 

"Do they trade in unicorns too?"

Duncan seems mellow enough now that they're on a good wind towards Havana to ignore Edward's jibe. "If you can captain a ship as well as you fight, that'll mean fewer annoying interruptions at sea."

"No more accidentally blowing up a ship's powder store, eh? And I thought you were having so much _fun_ , what with swinging about on board and-"

Duncan bares his teeth at him, and Edward winks challengingly - it's broad daylight, and this isn't a pirate ship, so it isn't as though Duncan's going to make good on any provocation for fear of rocking the proverbial boat before they even get to Havana. "Then again," Duncan growls, "Maybe you're more trouble than you're worth."

"You'll be surprised how many people hold that selfsame opinion, Mister Duncan."

Duncan absently rubs at his knuckles with his other hand - his reddened knuckles, still scored from his own teeth when he had stuffed them into his mouth - and a pulse of gritty lust heaves through Edward's gut even as Duncan smirks lazily at him, the evil bastard. "I used to tame falcons in London."

"Oh, aye? Toss them into bitterly cold streams and then laugh at them, did you? Must have worked a treat!"

"I meant, _Captain_ , that I fully understand the concept," Duncan sidles over, and Edward straightens up sharply as he feels a hand curl briefly over his arse, "of positive _reinforcement_ ," Duncan growls into his ear, his breath tickling his skin, but even as Edward licks suddenly dry lips, Bonnet hails Duncan over larboard, and Duncan pats Edward's arse, smirks, and ambles off the bridge.

Edward glares at the far horizon and plots his revenge, shifting his weight uncomfortably on his feet for the first time he remembers on the deck of a ship. Duncan didn't just fight like the Devil himself - he clearly _was_ the Devil.

He tells Duncan this sullenly when they finally make port and take their leave of Bonnet, and Duncan merely smirks at him and darts off, to Edward's annoyance and surprise, up carts and jetty poles to a windowsill and up to a roof, easy as you please. Irritated, Edward keeps up, if with somewhat less grace, as they skitter over the rooftops and over lines from thatch roofs to brick, then through the crook of the branches of a tree to a flying leap over onto a lower roof of a general store. 

"You're better than I thought," Duncan tells him, not even a little out of breath. 

"Race you if you want," Edward retorts, "Winner gets to fuck the loser and then kick him out into the cold with nary a helping hand."

"Are you _still_ hung up about that, Kenway?" Duncan drawls, though he seems amused. "To the steeple in that church, then." 

Surprisingly - or perhaps unsurprisingly, after all - Duncan can put on a turn of speed when he's really motivated, and it's only Edward's keen knowledge of Havana's secrets and rooftop routes that gets him to the steeple first - or almost - Duncan tackles him when Edward starts to climb the tower, and then they're kissing in the shadow of the belfry, because Duncan's obviously insane when his blood is up. 

It's as rough as it was when they were on that island, and just as maddening, but Edward's competitive, and he murmurs, "This still means that I win," when Duncan lets up.

"Entertaining as this juvenile game has been," Duncan, obviously, is also a sore loser, "You need to get dressed before we go and meet my friends."

"Sorry, get 'dressed'? 'We'?"

"You're going to be insurance," Duncan eyes him critically, "And as much as I think it'll be too much hope for clothes to make the man, at least they'll make you passable in civilised society."

"We're in _Havana_ , mate," Edward tries pointing out, but he still follows Duncan, grumbling, into a tailor, where Duncan picks out a white, long-sleeved hooded tailcoat with a rich blue collar and lapel, with bell cuffs and brass buttons. He looks, rather hilariously, like a copy of Duncan, in the spanking new coat, and he's still fiddling with the buttons as they get outside. 

"Looks obviously new, but it'll do," Duncan mutters. 

"Not that I don't appreciate the new coat, but I'm not one for uniforms," Edward notes mildly. 

"It's insurance. You can take it off after you get your money, if you decide not to take me up on the rest of my offer."

"You mean the bit where you lost our dare?"

"A ship, Mister Kenway," Duncan says acerbically. "The joint _venture_. Never mind. Just shut up from here onwards and let me handle things, and you'll get paid soon after. Can you do that?"

They get escorted up to meet two dandies playing at pistols, and Edward tries not to look too heartily bored as Scarface greets Duncan warmly. He's staring up at a seagull as Duncan tries his hand at target practice under the urging of the Spaniard, only partly listening to the conversation.

"-and who's your associate, Mister Walpole?"

"This is Edward. He's a promising young man."

"An... what does your Order call them - apprentice?"

"My _previous_ Order, Captain Rogers. But indeed, the concept remains similar. He does have a raw talent for mayhem that could use refinement."

Refinement, indeed. Edward adds it to his mental tally of things to revenge himself on Duncan for, and smiles sweetly at Duncan, who frowns at him in warning. 

"But your apprentice does seem a little under-equipped," the Spaniard exclaims. "He has none of your famous wristblades."

"He hasn't yet earned them," Duncan says mildly. "By my estimation. Even if I did have a spare pair, good sir."

"Take a pair from my collection," the Spaniard offers, gesturing to his men, who scuttle away into the villa and return eventually with a couple of boxes. Duncan frowns a little, then he shrugs, nodding to Edward to try on the bracers. 

"Thank you for your generosity, sir."

"Ah, there's always more of that where it came from," the Spaniard smirks, but Edward isn't paying attention, flexing the blades on his wrists instead, admiring the cunning, wicked little mechanism that allows the hidden blade to punch out, sharp and deadly.

Unfortunately, when he trails off after Duncan to finally get introduced to some old man who seems to be in charge of the entire operation - 'Templars', they call themselves - the Templars gad about a table gabbling about some old ruin of some sort. Edward exhales slowly, and entertains himself by lightening the gratifyingly heavy purses of Duncan's new friends - a fine sport until it's Duncan's turn, and his questing hand gets grabbed pointedly and firmly by Duncan before he's let go. 

"I should make you return all that money," Duncan tells him irritably in a low whisper, when they're on their way to the docks, behind the others.

"What money, oh great Master?" Edward asks innocently, and Duncan glowers at him. "What are we doing now? Am I getting paid?"

"Were you not listening a whit during the last hour?"

"No, Grand Master, for all of you were discussing fairytales and far off ruins without even a breath of the magic word 'treasure'."

Duncan rolls his eyes. "At least a pirate stays a bloody pirate," he mutters. "Just a little more work for the day and you'll get your pay."

III.

A 'little more' work turns out to be a damned sight far more work, what with strange hooded people in a similar get-up to Duncan's raining down from rooftops and jumping out of haystacks, of all things, but Edward supposes that it's _fun_ , wild and mad as it was, getting the prisoner back up to the villa, and he does his share of the wetwork all the way up to the governor's house.

Duncan has a quiet word with the old man, who nods, and then hands Duncan a pouch as the prisoner's led away. Duncan ambles back to him, tossing him the pouch. "Five thousand reales. As promised."

Ah, what the hell. Edward grins cheekily. "And my brigantine?"

Duncan rolls his eyes, but he does make good, magically enough, and the captain's cabin of the brigantine that he picks from the Spanish fleet in the harbour seems good enough to express Edward's personal appreciation for the kiss of good luck. Duncan looks briefly surprised when Edward climbs into his lap on the captain's bunk, but then his kiss grows fiercer yet and Edward smirks into it, knows he's pulling the tiger by its tail, drinks down the hair-trigger of violence and the touch of copper on his lips as Duncan bleeds him with a bite. 

Clothes and guns and knives and swords go clattering over the deck as they strip down and kick off their boots; a little wound salve slicks the way, far too slowly for his purposes - Edward growls and whines and bucks as Duncan gets a finger of his own between the two that Edward already has buried up his own arse. It's a nice sentiment, even if the man's marking a vicious necklace of reddening bites around Edward's collar and shoulders, and when he finally - finally pushes into Edward it's with a rough, harsh moan scraped raw with lust. 

That suits Edward just fine - he rides Duncan roughly with pain as his reins and pleasure as his bit, shaking the bunk and digging his nails into Duncan's back, the hull, the tearing sheets; they bloody each other's shoulders and spines and when Edward clenches his thighs around Duncan's waist and grinds down _hard_ Duncan bites out a strangled gasp and surges up to meet him - here's the panther, Edward thinks, triumphant. Sleek and dangerous and ready to devour him: he's got it bang in his sights and Jaysus if this isn't the best ride Edward's ever had, sundered down with violence and ecstasy. When he finally does make a mess between their bellies he makes sure that Duncan gets a taste of it, even if Duncan does bite down on the fingers in his mouth. 

" _Jaysus_ ," Edward breathes, when he does finally manage to get his heartbeat under control, sprawled comfortably over an irritably squirming Duncan. "That was fucking magnificent."

Duncan stills for a moment, then he resumes pushing at Edward until Edward reluctantly settles his weight over the bunk instead. "Think of it as a promise."

"A good ship, sex, and the wide horizon?" Edward grins impishly, propping himself up on his elbows. "Why, you bargain like the Devil himself, _Sneaksby_."

That gets him a scowl, and a swat, but even as Duncan starts to reply, there's a knock on the captain's cabin door, and the guard outside whispers, "Pardon me, sir, but there's been an... incident at the governor's house, and your presence is requested."

"No rest for the wicked, eh?" Edward quips, as Duncan stifles a groan against the pillow. 

"Just for that, you're coming along."

"Not after what you just did to me arse, I'm not-" Edward squawks as Duncan blithely shoves him off the bed. He hooks a leg against Duncan's knee and manages to wedge him off as well to go sprawling on the deck, tangled in sheets, and Edward's still laughing as Duncan glares at him before picking himself up, cleaning off, then dressing with silent, irritated dignity and stalking out of the cabin alone.

Edward settles with his back on the deck, eyeing the pouch of reales in his clothes, and grins to himself. The Gentlemen of Fortune call no man master, fun as this has been, and he knows what sits below decks of a ship such as this. Human cargo can so easily turn into a decent enough crew with a touch of desperation, and Nassau's a fair clip away from the Templars and their crazy fairytales. 

Besides, he doesn't doubt that he'll meet Duncan again - the sea's cruel that way, or kind, and it teaches its many lovers to love fate as much as luck. Edward uncurls to his feet, stretches, and reaches over to pull the bracers onto his wrists.

**Author's Note:**

> didn't quite manage the bonus, oh well. 
> 
> If you have questions/ficbunnies/want to talk, I'm on twitter @manic_intent and tumblr - manic-intent.tumblr.com :3


End file.
